


Enthralled

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/F, M/M, Maybe BDSM? Undecided so far, Sadness, Sadstuck, Smut, alternate universe mixed world, yeah that will happen soz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider. You are the sixth generation heir apparent to one of the universe’s largest erotica empires. Your new Alternian Troll slave is a mutant red blood with an undeserving sense of entitlement and a mouth dirtier than all of the products your company sells. He hates you, and you hate him. So no hard feelings, right? Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enthralled

The building appeared quite imposing. Well, it would have, were in not falling to pieces. It wasn’t built to last, evidently, but for a quick colonisation. ‘The more we had, the harder it would be for them to fight back’ as the slogans say. But that conflict was long over, and Alternia’s new leader hadn’t yet gotten around to fixing his crumbling empire. He had more important things in mind, like alcohol and sex and taxpayers money. You sniff, exasperated. Every passing moment you regret more and more your decision to expand this business of your dearly departed brother’s. You miss being able to go outside and feel the sun against your skin, without having to worry about undead trolls. A wind blows passed you and you shiver, tugging your hoodie closer. That too, you miss warmth. You miss Texas.

None the less, you enter the building before you. It is completely packed full of humans who had once been impoverished but now lead a comfortable upper-middle class lifestyle, discussing among themselves the accomplishments of their children in comparison to their neighbour. A few Trolls stood behind some of the richer folk, those who were more like you. No, you are nothing like them. You take your place at the back, leaning against the cold stone with your arms folded in front of you. A perfect view of the empty stage you wouldn’t pay much attention to anyway. A few minutes later, a short, fat man in a cheap suit appears on stage, placing a thick, falling apart book on the lectern, and coughing politely. The idle chatter ceases, and the room’s focus fell on the man. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. The West Beforan division of the TRA greatly appreciate and thank you for your attendance today. Without any further ado, we shall begin the proceedings. Lot 24551, Peixes Meenah. Fuchsia, a rare find, as in traditional Alternian society, very few of such a high class are allowed to live at any time, very worth her weight in gold. 10 Boonbonds.” And so it begins. You stare at the Troll, pinched grey, scarred skin, many shades paler than natural, obviously emaciated, her eyes sunken and dull. Horns, that were probably once large and impressive, ended close to her head, now only broken nubs of their previous awe. Her hands lay shackled in front of her, and her face held an expression of hopelessness; a picture of poor health and fifty years of slavery. She goes like hotcakes to the richest buyer, for a remarkable 50 boonbonds. You want to throw up.

The rest of the day continues ahead like this, and you wonder why you came as more and more mistreated ‘aliens’ cross the stage and into the prestige of their buyer. No one would care you didn’t own a Troll; you were a multi-millionaire, the sixth generation Strider of the Smuppet Erotica line. And it’s not like you give a shit what others think about you anyway. As soon as this session is over you’ll leave the house, and tell your associate to shove his pompousness up his ass, because you don’t need a damn slave.

It shouldn’t take long, you suppose, as an Ochre leaves the stage, but you can’t help but feel tense, and fidget. Anything to not look at the increasingly destroyed lives before him. A few of the richer men are talking among themselves energetically, since they no longer bothered to pay attention to the Trolls way below their price range. Assholes.

“And that is the last of the burgundies.” The room erupts in silent chattering, and half of the room begins to stand. The auctioneer coughs, “However, we do have one more item, lot 24601.” Everything about him screams trouble. He is bound to at least a Jade, maybe even Teal level, even gagged, unlike even the higher bloods, and his eyes are like fire, burning and passionate and everything the humans hated to see in a Troll. “…Vantas Karkat, Mutant, or Offspect. Certainly a very rare find, very few survive past grubhood.” There was probably a reason for that, of course, and everyone in the room is suspicious and looking self-absorbed. The nubby horned Troll looks just as unimpressed as they did. You like him. “1000 boondollars.” That’s the clincher of course. Practically worthless, and definitely no profit would be made. And even in that case, or maybe because of this, the entire room looks at their feet, not daring to make eye contact with the Auctioneer for fear he may force them into a sale. It wasn’t legal, of course, but you never know on Alternia. “Come on, people, you will be the talk of the town. Your friends will admire-”

“Your stupidity.” A voice says, interrupting. Many people laugh silently, and some even cackle. But undoubtedly, the Auctioneer glows bright red. “Fine. 1000 boondollars, once, twice, no.” And that’s the end of it. Vantas rolls his eyes, escorted roughly off the stage by a surly guard. The other patrons leave, but you stay seated, staring at the Troll. He catches your eye, and for a moment the two of you share a mutual hatred for everything, before he disappears.

 

TOMORROW

 

You curse at yourself from behind shitty coffee in a Styrofoam cup. Last night you couldn’t stop thinking about Vantas. Kept up until the break of dawn almost, remembering the bright red gaze he lent you, imagining him looking at you that way while half naked on top of you. You gave yourself a good beating from that image, and you feel like scum. You’re at the same auction house, this time in the front row, nursing a Styrofoam cup of shit and a chronic migraine. All because maybe they might offer a delinquent Troll for sale, and you are unable to control yourself.

You are literal scum.

The same ruddy auctioneer presents the Trolls for the day, but you don’t even look, you don’t want to see the Trolls that yesterday you pitied because of people just like you. And they were like you. You hate yourself. “Vantas Karkat.” You lift your head, and he is there again. Just as heavily guarded as yesterday, eyes still bright, still fighting. He recognises you, and stares, his violent growl dissolving into a confused frown. Fighting the urge to smile or blush or maybe cry, you push your aviator frames further up your face. “Down to 600 boondollars!” There is complete silence, once again, but Vantas does not look worried or even vaguely interested, his entire focus was on you, and remains that way until he is dragged off stage.

You’re the first to leave as soon as he is invisible, and for your entire walk home your throat burns.

 

ONE WEEK

 

Both the auctioneer and Vantas are familiar with you now, and they both hate you quite a bit. The auctioneer glares at you as he stands at the lectern. You half salute him, a slight smirk on your face that no one but he would notice. He looks away from you, at his paper, then smiles, somewhat Grinch-like. You ignore it. The proceedings go on as they always had, Troll after Troll being sold, and you can’t even pretend to care about them anymore. The last of the Burgundies pass through and you sit forward a little, waiting for Vantas. “This concludes our evening. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” The other people file out, but you freeze. The auctioneer glances at you, smirking a little, and disappears off the stage. You fling yourself up out of your seat, following him, among the other patrons who had made purchases, walking as fast as possible among the other ambling bodies. That wasn’t fast enough, so you push people out of your way, ignoring their angry cries, and you grab the auctioneer’s jacket. He cries out in surprise. “Where is he?” you say.

“What are you talking about? Sec-” you push a hand roughly over his mouth.

“Don’t you dare. I won’t hurt you unless you cause a scene. Where is Vantas?” You remove your hand from his mouth slowly.

“He’s to be executed,” he says, trying and failing to keep the quiver from his voice. Your heart races, but you work to keep your fear from your voice and face.

“Why?”

“He wasn’t selling. You know that better than most. So rather than have him waste our profits, he will be removed.”

“Is he still alive?” The auctioneer is silent and looks to the floor. You push him into the wall, and he squeaks. “Is. He. Alive?”

“Yes! But the executioner is coming in a few hours!”

“I’ll buy him.” The words are out before you have a chance to think about them. You’ll buy him?

“Look, if you wanted him you should have-”

“5000 boonbucks.” He stops. You know they would never place his worth that high. “Please. I’ll pay whatever you want, to make up for his keeping expenses and the executioner fee. Please.” He stares at you, eventually sighs.

“Come with me.” You follow him down the corridor, into a room full of small cells. Each are filled with about three Trolls of various blood colours, unconstricted save for one chain around their ankle. It is probably the closest they’ll get to freedom ever again. You’re taken to the very back of the room, and you see him. He’s alone, and gagged, in the very corner of the room, his eyes closed. He looked in pain. He opens his eyes at the sound of the door opening. Glances at the auctioneer, glances at you, and frowns.

“Look at that Vantas. Someone actually wants you. Count yourself lucky.” The auctioneer leaves and is replaced with a guard, who pulls Vantas up roughly. You bite back a protest, as the guard places a pair of shackles around the Troll’s wrist. He’s still glaring at you.

“We’ll need the gag back,” said the guard as he unlocks the chain around Vantas’ leg, “You can keep the ‘cuffs though. You’ll need ‘em.” You’re supposed to be worried. You’re not.

He pushes Vantas into you, and you hold him, not as roughly as the guard did, but enough to keep the Troll from running. You give your account information to yet more staff, and soon you’re outside, back in the cold. You shiver a little, but take your hoodie off anyway, since you notice Vantas wearing nothing more than a standard thin black outfit, and he’s visibly shaking, though he tries to hide it. You wrap him in the hoodie without a word, even though he shrinks from you. Then you pull the gag away from his lips, revealing a mouth full of uneven sharp teeth. He inhales sharply, making a hollow croaking sound. Running his tongue along his lips, across his teeth, familiarising himself once again with his own mouth. He clears his throat, until finally, he speaks in a voice like the crunching the of gravel underfoot, “So, the asshole stopped being a fucking child waiting for mummy’s approval and finally bought me like I’m some kind of whore. Well done you deserve a fucking medal.” You must admit, you’re surprised. Of course, you knew he would probably fight, and he would be violent, sure, but somehow you still thought he’d be grateful or something. But you suppose, he’d only dealt with assholes for humans his entire life, what else would he expect from you but to be another asshole human? You stifle a sigh and grab his arm, pulling him in the direction of your apartment. He pulls away from your grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“You’ll run,” you say.

“Ha ha ha. You’re hilarious. I am nearly shitting my pants from the sheer hilarity of it. You think I want to be beaten up, nookstain?”

“I honestly don’t think that would stop you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Karkat growled.

“I figured it out.” He frowns, then looks away, the back of his neck growing bright red. You smile as you push him gently in the direction of your apartment. One thing's for sure, your life will never be the same again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dudes I started thinking about this one a million years ago.


End file.
